A Lova' Like No Otha' (16 page)

I remembered losing my virginity at fourteen to one of my brother's friends, who was a senior in high school. Not wanting him to think I was a kid, I did it willingly, easily, even though I hated every minute.

Then I thought about my times at college, and about when I fell head over heels for Devyn. We were intimate at least four times a week, and I was always running to the doctor for a pregnancy test.

After graduating from college, I should have been smarter. But I still messed up a wonderful relationship with Chase because I couldn't control my desire for sex.

Looking back, I knew why my life was so messed up. I had never really given everything to Christ. I'd become a Christian years ago, and I knew I had grace. But I never exercised that grace for myself. I didn't do what God does, and forget my sins. I kept carrying my past transgressions with me. It was no wonder that I always felt so burdened.

I didn't want to spend the last moments of my life focusing on my pain. I wanted to spend the time letting God know that I was sorry for my sins. Not a few, but all of them. I desperately wanted to become a person after God's own heart, even if only for a few seconds.

The oxygen masks sprang down from above. Following the attendant's instructions, we placed our masks over our noses. I was shaking uncontrollably. I tried to breathe deeply, to calm my trembling.

The aircraft tilted dramatically to the left, and one of the doors on the overhead bin flew open.

I screamed.

Several bags came sliding out, one punching a man in the eye. A flight attendant wobbled down the aisle to see if the passenger was all right.

Screams now filled the cabin.

The intercom came to life as a stewardess at the front clicked it on.

“The captain has just informed us that we are going to make an emergency landing. We need to have everyone brace in the crash position.”

I followed the instructions as she asked us to lean forward and place our heads between our knees. It was hard to do between my tears and trembling.

But I held my ankles, as instructed. All concern I had for my past was dissolved. I had given everything to God and was looking forward to what I imagined heaven to be. I was ready to release my life to Him. So I prayed for peace, for myself and for those around me, especially the pilots.

“Lord,” the blond girl next to me named LeAnn Terry cried, “what did I do to deserve this?”

I peeked over at her. “It's okay,” I assured her. “I don't think you, or anyone else here, did anything bad. You know, maybe God just needs us to go home.”

“But I'm not ready,” LeAnn screamed.

I closed my eyes. “Lord, help this girl,” I prayed over the screams and cries that filled the cabin. “I don't know what she's going through. But help her find her peace. Lord, give us all peace.”

As the plane made its descent, I squeezed my eyes tighter.

“I'm ready, Lord,” I whispered.

A moment later, the plane touched the ground. Even though I was supposed to stay down, I lifted my head and peeked through the window. I could almost see the wind, whipping around the airplane as the pilot glided us to a complete halt.

We stopped, and for several moments, only silence filled our space.

Then the girl cried out, “Thank you, Lord. Thank you!”

Everyone in the plane cheered and clapped.

“Well, folks,” the captain said over the intercom. “We are in Dallas. I know this isn't where you expected to be, but we wanted to get us all somewhere safely.”

We stood and rushed toward the emergency exit doors, where the flight attendants and several Good Samaritan passengers helped us down the inflatable emergency slides. When I was settled safely onto the tarmac, I wanted to get on my knees, kiss the ground and thank God. But I stood next to the girl who had been sitting next to me and surveyed the damaged plane. Smoke and fire billowed from one of the engines, making it difficult to see much of anything in the dark.

“I cannot believe we got out of there,” the girl cried.

I put my arms around her. “I know. We're blessed.”

Many of the passengers were crying—men and women alike. But I didn't have any tears. I guess I was cried out.

I helped my new friend into one of the emergency vehicles that was taking passengers to the terminals.

“Thank you,” she said to me.

“For what?”

“For reminding me through all of this that God was with us. I wouldn't have made it without you,” she said. “You are definitely one of God's angels.”

I smiled. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. And if she only knew why I was even on that plane, she would have known that being called one of God's angels was the biggest compliment anyone could have ever given me.

When she asked me for my address, I frowned.

But she reassured me quickly. “I just want to find a way to say thank you for all that you did for me tonight.”

I shrugged and gave her my mother's address. I didn't really expect to ever hear from her again. She was probably just being polite.

When she stopped chatting, I was finally able to lean back in the minivan and close my eyes.

Dear Lord,
I silently began my prayer.
I want to always remember these moments. I want to always remember what it felt like to think I had reached the end of my earthly journey. From this point, I want to live my life only pleasing You. I know that it was only because of You that the plane landed safely. I could feel Your guiding hand. If You could do that, Father, You can surely do the same thing with my life.
I paused and opened my eyes. This was certainly going to be the first day of the rest of my life.

The next day, as I drove into my mother's neighborhood, I remembered how much I hated the projects. I detested the roaches, loud music, winos, random gun shootings and everything else associated with living there. But after the horrific plane ride, I was just excited to be home.

And I was glad to be home so that I could resolve old issues with my mother. We had a lot of talking to do. I felt that I'd been damaged so much as a child, and the only way to get rid of all I was carrying was to get it out in the open. After we cleared the air, I hoped my mother and I could have the kind of mother-daughter relationship I knew we both wanted and needed.

I barely stopped my rented car in front of my mother's building before she came running outside. She gripped me tightly when I got out of the car.

“I've been so worried ever since you called from Dallas,” she said, trying to control her sobbing.

“I'm okay, Mom,” I assured her.

“I don't know how you were able to get on another plane after that,” she said, pulling back to take a good look at me.

“It was scary,” I admitted, “but I knew God had everything under control. If the plane went down, then that was what He wanted with my life.”

She peered at me, obviously surprised at my confident words. I opened my trunk and pulled out my suitcases. Last night, as I was settling in at the hotel, the airline called and told me that my luggage was saved. Although it didn't matter to me at that point, I was grateful. I gave one suitcase to my mother and then I carried the other.

My mother couldn't take her eyes or her hands off me. I was a bit surprised. My mother had never been very affectionate, but I could tell from her outpouring of emotion that she loved me far more than I had ever given her credit for. I longed to tell her how much I cared about her and appreciated her. But she didn't give me the chance. As soon as we were inside her two-bedroom apartment and we sat down on the sofa, she began talking.

“I'm sorry I wasn't the best mother to you and Alonzo,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “I've done things in my life that I'm not proud of. But I sure am proud of you. You are such a blessing.” She patted my knee, tears misting her eyes. “I've been praying for you to come home for so long.”

I was surprised again—this time by her words. For the last several hours, I'd wondered how I was going to bring up the subject, but now my mother was saying the things I wanted to hear. I knew it was God at work. He'd given me this second chance with my life and He was giving me the opportunity to fix the things that needed fixing.

“I know, Mom. I'm sorry too,” I said.

She shook her head. “You don't have anything to be sorry about. I'm just so grateful that God answered my prayers. He brought you home to see me.” She pulled a tissue from the box on an end table and dabbed at her eyes. “And just in time too.”

It took me a moment to understand her words. “What do you mean, Mom?” I asked, catching the seriousness in her tone. “What's wrong?” My heart began to pound.

“Sweetie,” she whispered, “they found a lump.” She placed her right hand over her left breast.

The look in my mother's eyes was the same one I'd seen on the blond girl's face when our plane was descending so rapidly. Her words struck me like an explosion.

Chapter 11

O
h, Mom.” I hugged her tightly. I had never embraced my mom like that before. But then, I had never thought about losing her. At that moment, I realized that my mother meant more to me than I'd ever admitted. The last thing I wanted to do was let go of her.

After several minutes, she pulled away and walked to the kitchen. Soft tears streamed down her face as she poured water into a teakettle and placed it on the stove. She pulled a package of tea bags from the cupboard and then turned to me.

“I've been battling breast cancer for years, Zoe.”

“Oh my God, Mom. Why didn't you tell me?”

She shook her head. “I didn't want you to worry. No one knew, not even your brother.” She paused as if she needed the time to gather strength. “Sometimes the pain is excruciating, almost more than I can bear.”

I shook my head. I couldn't believe her words. I tried to think back on the time I spent with my mother, especially as I was planning my wedding. But no matter what, I couldn't remember any clues. I never saw her pain. I just never knew.

I guess I had been so wrapped up with my own life that I never gave much thought to what was going on with anyone else—especially my mother. My heart ached as I thought of all of those phone calls my mother had made to me in Seattle, and how I just ignored her. When she needed me most, I wasn't there. I was on the other side of the country, doing my own thing.

“Last year, when they detected cancer cells in my right breast, the doctors removed them. But after the surgery, I felt even worse.”

It hurt to think that my mom had been going through struggles that I knew nothing about. She had actually been in the hospital and I knew nothing about it. I tried to imagine which month it was—though it could have been anytime. I didn't speak to my mother or visit her very often.

“Mom, I'm sorry I haven't been here for you.” I felt like my words were lame. Though I meant them sincerely, the words sounded hollow. There was nothing I could say to erase the fact that I was not there when my mother needed me.

“I ain't gonna lie to you, Zoe. It's been rough. But God has been with me every step of the way. When I was hooked up to all those machines, He showed me that He could take me anytime He wanted. But He didn't. He wants my healing. But He's teaching me a lot through this.”

My heart broke as I pictured my mother lying alone in a hospital bed, surrounded by cold machines and medical personnel who were paid to take care of her, along with dozens of other patients. No family. No cards. No flowers. And yet, she didn't seem bitter.

“I don't want you to feel bad, Zoe. I was glad that I told no one. It made me depend on God. All my life I tried to handle things myself. I did everything I could to provide for my children, trying all kinds of desperate things: drugs, men, alcohol. But if I would have just trusted God to provide for us, things could have been so much better.”

The teakettle whistled, and Mom poured the hot water over the tea bags inside two chipped mugs. As we sat at the kitchen table, sipping our hot drinks, my mother explained some of the procedures she'd endured.

I listened, feeling as sorry for her as I felt for myself. “Mom, where do you stand now? What's going on with the cancer?” It was hard to even ask those questions.

“Well, you're home just in time. Tomorrow I go to the doctor to see if the chemo has worked.”

“I'd like to go with you,” I said, squeezing her hand.

My mother smiled for the first time. “Thanks, baby. I'd like that.”

When my mother hugged me, there was more love in her little run-down two-bedroom apartment than I'd ever seen or felt in even the grandest homes I'd visited. And that made me wonder why I'd always done whatever I could to get far away from here. Because right now, there was nowhere that I wanted to be more than at home.

I stayed with my mom for a week. Helping her was a sad joy. I was overjoyed to finally be there for her. But I felt miserable that she had to go through this terrible illness.

We did get some comforting news from the doctor. It wasn't the news we wanted to hear. The cancer hadn't all disappeared, but the chemo was working. The cancer cells were being reduced.

The treatments made Mom nauseated. But she was a trouper. Knowing that it was working spurred her on to endure the pain and discomfort. And I think it helped that I was with her. I was a visual reminder that she had much to live for.

Her tenacity inspired me, and gradually, I began to see some improvement. My mother was getting better. Although she needed to take an afternoon nap every day, and she was a bit thinner, she acted like her usual healthy self in every other way.

On the third day that I spent with my mother, I picked up her mail and noticed a small package addressed to me, from an unfamiliar address. I ripped off the brown paper wrapping and found a book by Max Lucado entitled
In the Eye of the Storm.
On the first blank page was a note: “Zoe, my life is forever different because you showed me, in the eye of my storm, how to stay focused on Jesus. With Him, I got through the storm. Thanks.” It was from LeAnn, the girl who sat next to me on the flight.

I sat on the couch, turned the page and started reading. The words of the book came alive. They described so well the chaos that filled my life over the last few months.